


Dead Weight

by FaroutTrash



Category: Arthur Fleck - Fandom, Joker (2019)
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Gay Relationship, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Male Character, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Might add more tags later, POV Third Person, Slow Burn, Smut, Social Issues, Social Justice, Stalking, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-01-29 19:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21415393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaroutTrash/pseuds/FaroutTrash
Summary: A hyperactive, aspiring poet and a depressed party clown makes for an odd pair of neighbors, and for an even more odd couple.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Original Character(s), Arthur Fleck/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 102





	1. Let it all get away

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! This is the first fanfiction that I have made in a while so please be kind (though constructive criticism is welcome)! Please, leave feedback in the comment section as well as any suggestions on how you feel the story should go. I kind of started making this on a whim, but I still hope to be able to publish consistently enough. Anyways, enjoy!

Gotham. The famous city of garbage, crime, and the dwelling of everything horrible, truly a cesspool of everything dirty and vile. Trash was piled high on the streets filling every nook and cranny with its putrid stench. Prostitutes and drug dealers on every street corner, a siren always blasting whether it be a cop or ambulance, and riots in front of every government building. _‘No place like home’_ Richie thought, taking a deep inhale of virulent, cold air. 

It had been years since he had been inside the heart of Gotham, walked on the filthy pavement or smelled the toxic fumes emitting from the dilapidating city. Ever since he moved to the cozy little suburb on the outskirts of town, he’s completely avoided going back at all costs. Growing up in one of Gotham’s many rundown, neglectful orphanages was a grueling first few years of his life, but he was one of the lucky ones. He shudders at the memories of that dreadful place. _‘I owe you guys’_ he thought, sighing and looking up at the sky. He had never been religious, but ever since his adoptive parents passed, he wished he was. 

Around the age of ten, Richie was adopted by the Stauber family. A man and a woman, both aged around forty-five and of moderate wealth, fell in love with him when they first met at the orphanage. They were the dream parents that every orphan fantasizes about. They were laid back, but strict enough that he had discipline. They made sure he did his chores and homework, but never argued or yelled if he began to fall behind. They never insulted his dream to become a famous poet or chastised him when he dyed his hair, and most importantly, they supported Richie’s “alternative lifestyle”. They truly were ahead of their time. 

Tears began to peek out of the corners of Richie’s eyes as he lets his body be consumed in the warmth of nostalgia, but he quickly wiped them away, slightly dislodging his oversized, round eyeglasses. _‘Gotham is no place to show vulnerability’._

After a long, bitter cold trek across Gotham, Richie’s new apartment building was in sight. A smile teases the corner of his lips as he adds a little more of a skip in his step, still being careful to not rattle the boxes he was carrying too much either. With a backpack and two medium-sized boxes, he was finally able to finish his week-long move. Albeit he doesn’t have many items and most of them are hoarded up in his parent’s old storage unit, it’s still hard to move everything from one side of Gotham to the other with only using movers for furniture. Despite having a modest amount of inheritance money, he can still be a bit of a cheapskate. 

Warm air hit Richie’s cold flesh like thousands of heavenly kisses after he finally succeeded in opening the door leading into the lobby after several clumsy attempts. With a huff of triumph and content, he looks around and absorbs his surroundings. The dim, flickering, ambient lights did a piss poor job of providing proper visibility and the floors, walls, and peeling, unsightly paint added to the aged, rickety appearance of the entranceway, yet something was so… aesthetically pleasing about it. 

Richie was ripped out of his thoughts by the sound of the door opening behind him; a wave of cold air nips at his back and leaves him scowling slightly. The intruder brushes by him and heads straight for the mailroom--if you could even call it a “room”--checks the mail, and disappears into the stairway before Richie even had the chance to utter a word. He was so used to people at least giving him a weird look because of his faded out blue hair. _‘Well, he must’ve had a bad day’_ he thought, but who could blame him? Who doesn’t have a bad day in Gotham? Pressing the button for the elevator to take him up to his apartment, he shifts his weight and lets out another tired sigh. 

“Doney, done, done, and done!” Richie exclaims wiping his hands together. Everything is unpacked at last. Grabbing the newspaper he collected a couple nights before, he plops down on the couch and begins reading, searching for any ‘Help Wanted’ ads that seemed promising. Yes, he had inheritance money, but he put the bulk of it in savings and left only enough for a couple of month’s rent and living costs. His parents worked hard for the money they left him and he didn’t want to pour it all down the drain. He used a red pen to circle the very few job opportunities that weren’t across town and said a silent _‘thank you’_ to his past self for already getting his resume together before the move. He wasn’t too picky about what kind of work he was in, beggars can’t be choosers after all, but he’d rather apply somewhere close by before he resorts anything else. 

A loud growl erupted from the pit of his stomach reminding him of how long it had been since he ate. He got up and was ready to fetch his coat when his disappointed gaze met the clock. _2:28 am._ “Fuck!” he groaned louder than he meant, he couldn’t believe how fast he lost track of time, but he did get started unpacking late after all. With another loud groan and opened his cabinet and wasn’t shocked when he saw nothing. ‘You never went grocery shopping, what did you expect?’ Richie cursed at himself. It wasn’t the first time he had a glass of water and sleep for dinner, but after all the exercise from the day, he was hungry, but with a defeated huff, he laid back down on the couch and let his mind drift. 

_‘What was that guy’s problem earlier? Was it something I said?’_ Richie laughed to himself slightly over this, _**‘Of course, it wasn’t something you said! You didn’t say anything at all!** Maybe he could just tell by the way that you stand that you are a pathetic fa-’_ He cut that thought off before it could even finish knowing that his anxiety was beginning to get the best of him. Truth be told, no one knew about his sexuality apart from his parents, but to be fair, it was only decriminalized in his state a year ago. No more dancing in the shadows and secret meet n’ greets in dirty bathrooms, not that he was apart of those anyways. 

Thoughts and daydreams dance behind tired eyelids for what seems like decades before sleep finally began to take over Richie’s exhausted soul. With his brain always bouncing a mile a minute, it was hard for him to rest properly. Tonight was just like any other except his thoughts were more focused on the mysterious stranger he met in the lobby. _‘Let’s see what tomorrow brings’_ was the last thought firing off in his brain before he completely succumbed to the Sandman’s will.


	2. I love what I can't see

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took a minute to get this one out, but I've been really busy with classes and my job so I haven't had that much time! Also, I changed the name because I wasn't really feeling the original anymore. Anyways enjoy!

It has been a week since Richie had officially moved back into the heart of Gotham. The move, while tedious, was fairly easy enough. At least, it was nothing compared to trying to find a job in a city where everything seems to be shutting down. However, his job hunt hadn’t been completely fruitless and he had just recently heard back from the diner right down the street from his apartment building. Food service wasn’t something he was exactly excited about, but a job is a job and it’s better than nothing. 

Starting a shower and grabbing a fresh pair of “nice” clothes, he begins to get ready for his job interview. He had experience in food service from his teen years, but he was scared the three-year gap in his resume was detrimental to his chances. His parents were kind enough to support him while he pursued his life-long aspiration._ ‘Three years washed down the drain’_ Richie frowned as he let the fiery water bathe his sensitive skin. No matter what he did, how hard he tried, or how much heart he poured into his work, nothing ever came of it. No one would publish him or even actually read his work. His parents always supported him though, just like they always did. Despite all of this, though, Richie tried his best to stay positive and continued to write when he could. He doubts anything will ever come of his hard work, but he carries on regardless. 

Stepping out into the chilly Gotham weather, Richie lets out a slight shudder, letting his body get accustomed to the sudden temperature change. Between constant rain and chemical clouds covering the sky, Gotham could never escape Jack Frost’s icy grasp. Luckily, the diner he was visiting was only a few paces away. _‘You better not blow this, you can only live on their money for so long’ _Anxiety crept down his spine like a spider leaving little goosebumps behind. _ ‘Let’s get this show on the road’_

Arthur woke up this morning with a jolt triggering another agonizing laughing fit. His sleep has been plagued by nightmares his whole life; he can’t even remember the last time he got proper rest. A guttural groan escapes his paper-thin lips as he gets up from the couch and staggers into the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee. Coffee was the driving force of energy that keeps the cogs in Arthur’s body turning. That being said, it’s one of the only things he regularly consumes; that and cigarettes, of course. The bitter smell of java and the smoky-sweet scent of cigs stained the chipping walls, the dust on the furniture, his battered clothes, his cold breath; there was not a single item in the room that didn’t reek of the intoxicating fragrance.

While he waited for his coffee to infuse, he lit a cigarette. The harsh breath of death dances down his throat and into his lungs as he peers out the window. The streets bustled below him, empty faces blended in with the dull colors of downtown Gotham. The concoction of movement and color reminded him of droning static. The tedium of it all made him sick, but he was used to it. After all, the people of Gotham are creatures of monotony; he was guilty of it just as much as the majority. Every day felt the same for Arthur. Wake up, smoke, go to work, go to the weekly therapy appointments, answer the same questions, tread through the monthly walk of shame as he goes to pick up his prescriptions, take care of his mother, write in his journal, palm out the occasional wank, barely sleep, then repeat over and over again. Even conversations felt the same if anyone bothered to talk to him at all. 

Just as he was about to put out his cigarette, something caught his eye. Among the conjunction of black and white, a speck of color shone through. Arthur’s chapped lips parted slightly as he watched the colorful stranger closely. He adorned a pale pink sweater tucked into his khaki slacks with a white collared shirt underneath that complimented his faded, slightly greenish, blue hair. Glare from his large, round-framed glasses masked his eyes, not that Arthur would have been able to see them from this distance anyway. He thought back to the other day when he passed him the apartment lobby. _’Did he just move here?’ _ He had never seen him before the other night and he was sure that he would remember someone that looked so… unique. Dyed hair wasn’t completely obsolete in Gotham and occasionally, Arthur would see a kid with spiked up, colored hair, but they always wore scowls and dark attire. The individual before him wasn’t like them, or anyone in Gotham for that matter. Every step he took exploded with energy like they meant something. 

Arthur’s recently developed interest disappeared into the cozy little diner adjacent to the apartment building almost as quickly as he appeared. No longer fixated on the curious, flamboyant man, his attention is drawn to the trickling sound of the coffee pot halting. Sluggishly he treads back to the kitchenette to retrieve his coffee and cook breakfast for his mother. No matter how hard he fights it, his thoughts are unable to stray away from the prismatic stranger. Another attack forms, bubbling like hot lava up from his chest to his throat. 

Richie bounces out of the diner feeling accomplished. As soon as he was no longer in the view of his future coworkers and boss, he punched the air and jived, mouthing words of praise. It might not be the absolute best profession in the universe, but it’s phenomenal that he was able to find a job so quickly with Gotham’s low employment rate, especially one so close to his apartment building. His first day being Monday, he can enjoy the weekend without stressing over job hunting._‘Not that you are going to do anything exciting anyways’_Sometimes Richie wishes he could just turn off his brain. He shook his head as if to clear it and a grin breaks across his flushed, chapped lips_‘Well… there is one way to do that...’_

“Fun night planned tonight?” droned the cashier while she rang up Richie’s booze and cigarettes; it was rather obvious that this woman did not genuinely care about his plans, but he answered honestly regardless.

“Yes, ma’am! You betcha’!” 

The cashier rolls her eyes slightly as she thrusts the receipt at Richie, “Have a nice day, sir.” His answer consists of a forced curl of the lip and a nod. He stuffs the cigs in his pocket and clutches the brown bag to his chest before scampering out into the godless streets of Gotham. Even in the daytime, Gotham was a dangerous place, especially for a scrawny, short, gaudy man like himself. Luckily for him, the service station was less than a block away from his building. 

Greeted once again by warmth and stale scent of the lobby, Richie wastes no time making his way to the elevator. The discordance of its groans and creaks fill his mind with anticipation of getting blackout drunk. As the elevator completes its descend with a shrill ‘ding!’, a gust of cold air rushes in indicating that someone had opened the main door. Turning around, Richie is met with the familiar, gaunt face from the week before. With a quick, reticent smile and a small wave, he enters the elevator, holding it open for the stranger. _ ’He’s already so skinny, I’m sure he could use a little less cardio’_.

The man stood dumbfounded for a moment, almost as if he had just witnessed a shocking affair, before smiling back and briskly entering the elevator.

“Thank you… 6th floor” The voice was so soft and hushed that Richie was unsure if he’d even really heard it, the convenience of them living on the same floor was odd. Pressing the button labeled ‘6’, the elevator doors rattle close encasing them together in the small space. He observes the peculiar person taking in the details of his appearance. He was obviously older than Richie. The lines adorning his face told stories of years of exhaustion and his vibrant green eyes stared blankly in front of him as seas of desolation crashed behind them. Unkempt, dark hair flowed around his angular features, landing right at his shoulders.The man was thin, _ ’Too thin’_thought Richie. His jawline was sharp as a blade and was peppered with a five o'clock shadow. Clothes hung from his emaciated frame loosely; his yellowish-beige hooded jacket contrasting sharply with his business casual attire underneath. Richie’s cheeks tinged with pink as he sized him up noticing that he is barely at shoulder height with the man. _ ‘A tall, skinny, older man that looks like he hasn’t slept in years? That’s exactly the type I’d let ruin my life.’ _ Richie laughed at himself internally, but he knew very well that he wasn’t joking.

Arthur tried to focus on the clangs of the elevator as it lurched up leisurely rather than the prying eyes of the young man. Every inch of Arthur’s body screamed for him to strike up a conversation, but his social anxiety got the best of him (as it always did). Eyes lying fixated in front of him, he fiddles nervously with his hands, dreading it reaching its destination. _’Just say something!’_ The lonely man desperately searched his mind for the words to say but to no avail. He opens his mouth to speak, all that that was utter was the booming sound of pervading laughter.

_’Of course, he has to be crazy! I can’t have anything nice!’ _ Richie recoils back into the furthest corner of the elevator. The enclosure suddenly seems much smaller and he tries his best to shrink away into its shaking walls. To Richie’s horror, the lift slams to a halt with a cacophonous blend of mechanical noises. Between abhorrent hacking and hysterical laughs, the manic man tries to choke out something Richie couldn’t understand. Their eyes meet for a second, an intense green meeting his brown. The deep sadness behind them tug at Richie’s heart, but all his wide eyes could focus on was the man’s frantic hand digging into his jacket pocket. _’ This is it, this is how I die, shot by a mad man’_ Much to his relief, the man pulled out a small laminated card instead of a gun. Ambivalently, he reached out and took the card, their quivering hands brushing together for a moment.

_ ** Forgive my laughter. I have a condition (more on back) **_

_  
  
_

** It's a medical condition causing sudden,   
frequent, uncontrollable laughter that doesn’t   
match how you feel. It can happen in people   
with a brain injury or certain neurological   
conditions. **

_  
  
_

A wave of guilt washes over Richie pouring down his throat and leaving a sick feeling in his stomach. Swallowing his initial fear and pushing all social anxiety aside, he lays his free hand on the man’s shoulder, rubbing slightly in an attempt to calm him. Laughs slow to mere giggles before stopping completely. Once again their eyes meet, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Are you alright?” Richie reluctantly spoke but wanted to be the one to break the silence.

Arthur peered down at the kind stranger, never expecting anyone to worry about him, let alone comfort him. He searched past his large, round, wireframe glasses and into his deep, honey brown eyes; empathy and remorse burned in them. The sweet vibrations of the stranger's voice tickled against his cold skin and ignited a fire that he hadn’t felt in years. “Y-Yes, I’m fine… I’m s-so sorry…I have a con-condition…” Arthur cursed mentally at the sound of his stuttering, timid voice. The heat radiating off the boy’s hand was still blooming on Arthur’s flesh, lingering contact teasing at his touch-starved soul. “Thank you,”

Richie’s heart ached and fluttered at the sound of the man’s light, shy voice. Now embarrassed, he swiftly jerks his arm back to clutching his and clears his throat, “N-No, problem! I’m Ric-” before he could finish his sentence, the elevator yanked back to life and the doors ripped open with another piercing _ ‘ding!’ _. He glances over at the man and caught him staring back at Richie. Blushing uncontrollably, he offers a hand in the mysterious stranger’s direction, “I’m Richmond, but you can call me Richie! Looks like we’re neighbors!” The man straightens his stance slightly and took Richie’s hand in his, waggling it gently. Focused so intently on the electricity caused by skin contact, Richie barely heard the hushed words escape his lips. “My name is Arthur…Arthur Fleck...” 

_ Arthur Fleck. _ The name was so fitting for the lanky man in front of him. Eyes still locked, awkwardness fills the air and begins to crush Richie. He steps out of the elevator amblely, averting his eyes to the ground. “Well, I guess I should go… See you later! Maybe we can go out for coffee sometime?” His heartbeat increased as he anticipates the answer to his question. _‘You have to always shoot your shot, you never know what may happen’ _ his mom’s voice reminded him. Arthur beams at him, and for a moment Richie was sure that he was going to reject the offer. 

“Yes, I would like that very much!” 

Richie almost jumped at the tone change in Arthur’s voice. He sounded much more elevated than before and this only fueled Richie’s confidence. “Great! 11 o’clock at the diner across the street?” 

“Of course!” 

Arthur’s grin spread ear to ear and Richie imagined that it had to be painful, but his mind was fogged with excitement to care about anything but meeting with his new friend. Without thinking, Richie winked at him before rotating around and striding to his room, trying desperately to ride the confidence high. Glancing back for a second, he could still see Arthur standing in the hallway with an astonished look on his face. 

After locking the door behind him, Richie slides down to the ground and lets out a flustered huff. _’ What am I doing?’ _ He thinks, tearing open the paper bag that has been concealing his bottle of shame. He stands up ungainly and stumbles into the kitchen in search of his bottle opener. Setting down on the couch with a freshly opened bottle of booze in one hand and a pen and his poetry journal in the other, he takes a sizely gulp of the burning fermented liquid and lets the ink flow from his fingertips.

** _ ‘While the city raves.  
Why can I see only you,  
Bizzare laughing man?’  
_**

**  
  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please, leave a comment/feedback!


	3. Now it's Quarter to Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: SEXUAL THEMES AND MILD HOMOPHOBIA
> 
> Hey! Sorry for the long wait! I have been really busy with work and school lately so I haven't had much time to write. Anyways, enjoy!

Arthur stood hands on both sides of the sink as he glares at his distressed reflection. Sweat was pouring down his thin frame like flooded rivers in a monsoon, pooling into every dip caused by bone in his skin. A broken exhale escaped his contracting lungs as he fought back a laughing fit. His brain swirled with the reminisce of night terrors and perverse thoughts. _ ‘What’s wrong with me?’ _  
Ever since he was young, Arthur was different in ways besides the obvious. Shame was written on his forehead and screamed in every step he took. A “sickness” resides within him that pills can’t numb, that cigarettes can’t burn, and blaring laughter can’t deafen. An infection festering, spreading throughout his body; puss oozed from his veins and boiled his blood. A permanent fever warped his mentality forcing him into dismal denial. He scoffs lightly recollecting the years he spent fighting his urges. _ Tendencies _ as his therapist called it. The decades of counseling, internal battles, and lonely nights forcing himself to find pleasure in the women on the cover of playboy magazines proved to be futile. None of it mattered now; everything was crashing down in a sea of _ blue. _

An erection strained in Arthur’s sweatpants and he palmed at it slowly. A small sigh escaped his scarred lips, as he plays out the pleasureful high, daydreaming about taking Richie back to his apartment after coffee. The blue-haired boy danced seductively behind his closed eyelids, enchanting him. As his mind flickered to his lunch date tomorrow, he removed his hand and disgust overtook him. _ ‘It’s not a date, faggot, what’s wrong with you? Even if he was gay, guys like that don’t date men like you. You’re disgusting, why can’t you just be normal?’’ _ He thought, looking himself in the eye and slapping himself mentally--and physically--for even entertaining that thought. No one had ever shown any attraction to Arthur; not even street corner whores gave him the time of day. The only love he has ever felt had been in the form of fantasy and delusion. Not even his mother cared for him; she scarcely paid him attention until she succumbed to the disadvantages of old age. A lifetime of solitude has taken a toll on Arthur and he is starved. His whole body shook violently as all his efforts to restrain his hysterics snapped and he broke out in deafening laughter.

Richie sat up briskly upon waking up as the shrieking sound of muffled hysterical laughter rattled his brain. Taking a moment to gather his surroundings and realize what was going on, he shakily steps out of bed, grabs his glasses off the bedside table, and checks the clock. _ ‘It’s a quarter till three, why’s he up at this hour?’ _ Richie rubs his eyes and blunders into his small living area. As he enters the room, the continuous laughter amplifies and Richie hears several other neighbors yell for Arthur to “Shut the fuck up!”. Sadness washed over him as he remembers the small, laminated card Arthur had given him earlier. _ ‘No need to get mad, he can’t help it’ _ he mentally cursed at the faceless, nameless belligerent people. Just as he was about to step out of his apartment, his attention was turned to his current unadorned flesh. Most of his life Richie had slept in the nude and Gotham’s icy air will never change that fact.

Grabbing his old, unintentionally off-white house robe and not bothering to even slide on shoes, Richie stumbles out of his apartment. Sleepiness clouding his judgment causes him to forget that he doesn’t even know the man’s apartment number and that intruding on a stranger’s late-night endeavors might not be the best idea, but Richie has always been impulsive and he sought to find out what is troubling his newfound friend. He listens as carefully before concluding that Arthur’s apartment must be directly right of his own. Delightfully surprised, he raises a small, pale hand and gently raps at the door. From beyond the threshold, the laughter abruptly stopped followed by the discordance of choking and frantic shuffling. 

Upon hearing the soft knocks at his door, Arthur immediately clamps a clammy, quivering hand over his mouth. Atrocious guttural sounds emit from his throat as he rigidly gulped down his incessant laughs. Frantically, he shuffled around the apartment, trying to control his breathing as the last few convulsions finally lay rest and die upon passing his lips. Arthur composes himself for a moment and allows his hand to lie limply on the doorknob. Many nights Arthur has been through this routine of erratic laughter and angry neighbors banging at his door, ready to give him an earful about how much more important they are than him. Sighing quietly, Arthur opens the door and is met face to face with the source of his most recent episode. Arthur’s large, alert eyes met his and he immediately began to giggle softly; the boiling laughter bubbling in his core. _ ‘Really bad timing’ _ he thought looking down and clearing his throat before opening his mouth to speak, but his dialogue could not escape before it was interrupted by the sweet, enervated voice of his beloved neighbor. 

‘Hello...Are you alright? I could hear you laughing from my apartment and I was just...” 

Richie’s weary voice trailed off slowly as his eyes searched the figure in front of him. Arthur was shirtless, his skin glistened with sweat and every protruding bone on his torso was defined by the harsh lighting of the hallway. He was more gangly than Richie could ever imagine and it took every fiber in his being to not reach out and trace the ribs up to his collar bones. Grey sweatpants that did not leave much for the imagination hung loosely from his sharp hip bones. Richie could feel the lust began to ooze out of his mind as he observed the print in his pants. Arthur’s body was a labyrinth that Richie was begging to get lost in. 

“I...Uh… I am fine. T-Thank you for asking…” A blush crawled up Arthur’s neck, reddening his cheeks and the corner of his ears, “how did you find my apartment?” 

Richie jerked slightly when Arthur’s timid voice ripped his thoughts to shreds. He craned his neck to lock eyes with the taller man, “Oh… I just listened to the… noise?” The pitch of Richie’s voice rose as he pondered whether or not to call out his laughter. Mentally facepalming, he opened his mouth to speak, but the words were lost on his lips and forced the pair into a suffocating, awkward silence. 

Arthur peered down in awe at the stranger in front of him. The faded blue mop on Richie’s head stuck out widely in all directions and Arthur wanted nothing more than to comb his lonely fingers through the crazed locks. Glasses perched crookedly on Richie’s nose. Arthur dreamed of removing them and getting a closer look at the honey-brown orbs behind them. His eyes trailed down slowing, soaking in every detail that was not concealed by the thin bathrobe. He quickly flicked his gaze upwards to Richie’s plump, slightly chapped lips; those damning lips. The same perverted thoughts from earlier invaded his mind, but he had to shut them down before he became hard again. _ ‘Why would he go through all that trouble for me?’ _

“Thank you… that was very kind of you. I’m sorry if I woke you up,” Arthur stammered as he pried his hungry eyes away from the perfect blue mess in front of him. 

“No problem, honestly.” 

Richie stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say or do. He averted his eyes downward avoiding their eyes meeting once more, “Well, I better be getting back. Don’t want to oversleep for our date tomorrow! Bye!” Richie quickly spun on his heel and made haste getting back into his apartment leaving Arthur completely wide-eyed and dumbfounded. _ ‘What are you doing? You’re going to get yourself killed!” _ He didn’t even mean to say what he did, but a simple slip of the tongue could easily land him in the newspaper as the daily hate crime. He knew deep down that he so desperately wanted this to be a date, but he barely knew this man and it is not smart to openly present himself as homosexual. Gotham has indeed come a long way when it came to gay rights, with gay relationships being decriminalized, but Richie knew very well what happens on the streets and what law enforcement chooses to ignore. Being openly gay was a death sentence, but maybe he was ready to die. With a defeated sigh, Richie walked back to his bedroom. 

_ ‘A date? Did he call it a date? Or am I just delusional?’_ Arthur stood dead still in the exact spot as when Richie left. His shocked expression was still painted across his face as his eyes bore holes into the spot where Richie was standing. _ ‘Am I crazy?’ _ Heavy feet dragged the ground as he gradually made his way back into his apartment. 

“Happy? Is that you? Who was at the door?” His mom called out to him. 

“Yes, Mom! It was just a neighbor, please, go back to bed!” 

Arthur planted down onto the couch and stared blankly into the colorful TV screen. So many thoughts and emotions shot through his body at once and he bit his lip hard to hold back a laugh. He had only known this man for less than a few hours, and he was able to make Arthur feel more than he had in years. The years of the same dreadful, dreary life he has led. Time spent in the same monotonous routine aged his face and dulled his senses. He could feel himself rising from the grave. The electricity surrounding their interactions shocked his heart into beating again. Arthur reached down into his pants craving release from the vexing throb of his erection. His heart was soaring in his chest, beating like a war drum behind his ribs. Between strokes, Arthur breathed out a familiar name and loving praises. His eyes squeezed shut and thousands of pictures danced behind them. The corners of his vision were pricked with blue as he reached his climax, falling back into the couch. His sin burned his hand and dripped onto his sweatpants, but he was too caught up in ecstasy to notice or care. Only one thing occupied his thoughts and he couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow brings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for no coffee scene lol I did tag that this is a slow burn fic so I hope y'all don't mind. If you have any praises or critiques, please comment!!!


	4. Meet the Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been so long since I have updated!!!! I have been really distracted with life as of late so I haven't really been much in the mood for writing, but I am finally able to give you guys another chapter!!!

Richie awakes violently as his digital rooster sounds the alarm for him to wake. _ ‘Fuck! 10:30am, I shouldn’t be this tired.’_ He sighs to himself, recollecting the night before, moving to sit on the edge of the bed to do the “I just woke up” stare. Richie was always bad when it came to social interaction, but he couldn’t help at cringe at him calling a simple, neighborly rendezvous a “date”. _’I better have not made this any more awkward than it already is going to be’_. Rubbing his hands through his messy hair, he grabs his glasses and decides he should go ahead and get dressed for the occasion.

After taking care of his morning hygiene, Richie decided to go for something simple, high waisted jeans and a baby blue jumper, and headed out of his apartment around 10:50am in just enough time to catch Arthur leaving his. He was adorned with a white button-up and a somewhat old-fashioned vest with dark slacks. Contrasting the semi formality of his outfit was the same threadbare, moth-eaten jacket that Richie met him in. “Hey, stranger!” Richie greeted with a curtsy, the absurdity of grown man curtsying in the 1980s aroused a small titter from the man. 

“Hopefully we won’t be for long!” Arthur replied demurely, almost physically cringing at his own words. Richie grinned politely at the man and gestured for them to tread onwards. 

Memories of their first meeting still echoed about the elevator and embarrassment crept up Arthur’s spine recalling his fit of hysteria. He nervously fidgeted and glanced over to the short man next to him. Arthur knew he shouldn’t allow himself to indulge in his ‘tendencies’, but deep down in his soul, he craved affection, whether it is platonic or not. For the first time, he prayed that the elevator would shut down and prolong their close-quarter interaction together. As expected, though, the gods were not on his side and the machine groaned to a stop and popped open with a dissonant ding. 

“How was your morning?” Arthur’s laden thoughts were interrupted by the inquisition. Truly he didn’t know how to respond to that. How was his morning? Same as always he supposed. The same monotony that seemed endless, until last night that is. 

“Different… but in a nice way!” Arthur fumbled hoping that Richie wouldn’t take it the wrong way, “t-to be able to share it with someone… is nice.” 

“I concur! It’s been a while since I shared the company of someone, well, someone other than my parents. They passed a couple months ago so I guess it’s been a while since I’ve shared their company too…” Richie's piteous voice trailed off looking at Arthur to see that he had stopped walking and was just staring at him. “Oh! Sorry! I have trouble with rambling sometimes!”

“No, no, no, no! I-I… I am s-sorry to hear about your parents!” Arthur started walking again and paused a moment before continuing, “I take care of my mother, she is ill and… well… I’m all she really has.”

Richie gave a sympathetic look towards Arthur and stopped at the entrance of the diner. “That’s very sweet of you, Arthur, she’s very lucky to have someone instead of being confined to a retirement home. An awful lot of Gotham’s elderly end up there,” Richie stated, holding open the door for Arthur signaling that they should enter. 

“A retirement home has to be better than that shithole!” Arthur half snorted as he helped himself to the nearest empty booth. Richie wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that so for the moment he deemed it appropriate to simply sit across from him. He pondered on what Arthur said, 

“Well, isn’t all of Gotham a shithole?” He finally remarked eliciting a genuine laugh from the man (which made Richie quite proud of himself). 

“You’re right, you’re right.”

The two sat in silence for a bit; both of the men nervously fidgeted in their seats until the waitress finally approached them to take their order. Richie ordered a coffee with extra sugar and a bagel and Arthur ordered a simple, black coffee. _‘Old-fashion’_ Richie noted once again. 

“You know, I just got hired here. I start Monday. Where do you work?”

“I’m a party clown over at HaHa’s Entertainment, but I want to be a comedian some day. My mother always said I was put here to bring laughter and joy to the world!” Arthur ended his last sentence with a sarcastic tone and the dramatic flailing of his arms. 

Richie had to admit, he didn’t quite strike Arthur as a comedian, but he was not one to judge people on their personal ambitions and dreams. He knew very well the harm of disapproving words and doubtful looks, “Ah, that’s very cool! If you couldn’t guess, my dream isn’t to be a waiter, but it’s what will pay the bills. I would love to be a published poet someday, but I’m not that good, I guess.” Richie scrunched up his nose a bit. “How about a joke?” he said, hoping to light up the mood. 

Arthur’s eyes go wide as his mind fills with panic. Every single joke that Arthur had ever written down suddenly vanished from his brain. He writhed in his seat as he desperately tried to think of something. _’Something. Anything at all.’_ he pleaded to himself, “Uh… How does a poet s-say hello?”

“I don’t know. How does a poet say hello?”

“Hey, haven’t we metaphor?” Richie snorted in response, yes, it was in fact very cheesy, but Richie didn’t exactly have a high-brow sense of humor. “That is good, I think you’d make a fine comedian!” 

“Thank you, no one has ever told me that before,” Arthur said very solemnly looking down at his lap, but a smile still stretched across his thin face. “Maybe I could see some of your poetry sometime.” Arthur wasn’t much of a reader, he hardly could even read, but he would definitely try if the kind stranger before him fancied it. 

Their orders were soon delivered to them and they chatted lightly as they sipped/ate. Before the pair even noticed, they had finished and were still chatting away. Richie has begun to grow rather fond of Arthur and Arthur to him (though both were glad to have someone pay attention to them at all). Time flew by and they had to pay for their meals after the waitress not-so-subtly pointed out the ‘No Loitering!’ sign on the wall. Neither of them wanted to go, but all things must come to an end. 

“Thank you for inviting me out, I can’t think of the last time I had lunch with someone,” Arthur said as they both leisurely made their way back to the apartment building. 

“The pleasure is all mine! Gotham is an awfully lonely place, which is ironic because it’s full of people,” 

Arthur gave a small laugh, he knew all too well how lonely Gotham is. Day by day he sees hundreds of people bustle past, too engorged with their own lives to notice him. He felt that if he died right in front of them, they’d step over him like trash and get on with their day. No one ever noticed anything in Gotham, and if they were to notice _something_ they would not care. _’That’s life!”_ He thought, sighing to himself, but he needed not to let himself be devoured with self-pity. Someone did finally take notice of him and ripped him out of the tedium of his life 

Richie frowned slightly at the silence that had befallen between them but knew that it would be inappropriate for him to blabber on the entire time. It truly had been far too long since he had last been in the company of another. He grew up with very scarce friends and limited social interaction apart from his parents. Even his days at the orphanage were plagued with solitude, but he’d rather not think about that now.

They had completed their journey back home and they stood at the elevator door, waiting as it took its time making its way down to greet them. Eventually, it opened up and the men stepped inside. It froze for a moment after Richie pressed their floor before lurching upwards.

“I live in the apartment right next to yours, you know, so you can stop by anytime you like. I don’t do much so I should be home most of the time that I’m not at work,” Richie said desperately wanting to break the silence. 

“You mean that?” Arthur asks quietly, genuinely appalled that he had not only been asked to hang out once but invited to come over anytime. _’He’s just being nice’_ Arthur thought, _’Who would ever want to hang out with you?’_

“Of course! As I said, Gotham is a lonely place. It’d be nice to have a friend.” Richie stated putting emphasis on the word “friend” to remind himself to not expect anything more. He made his way out of the elevator, _’Though, more than friends would be nice’_ Richie shook his head as if it would whisk away his gay thoughts. 

“I’ve never really had a friend…” Arthur admitted hoping Richie wouldn’t think less of him for it, but much to his relief Richie confessed to never really having one either. 

“Well, it’s been really nice meeting you, Arthur, please stop by soon!” Richie said opening the door to his apartment. He was forcing himself not to wink at the older man, he can be quite idiotic sometimes. Insecure one moment and stupidly confident the other. 

The two exchanged farewells and disappeared into their own apartments. Richie plopped down on his couch and opened up his poetry journal. The day was still young and he intended to get something done. 

**“Wayward man, why do you intrigue me so?  
Is it the sorrows that laden your face? Or the gentleness of your tones?  
Wayward man, that I hardly know,  
May I share my sin with you in this shithole we call home?”**

_  
  
_

Richie closed his book and huffed, “Rubbish, rubbish,” he grumbled to himself. “Don’t know why I even bother!” He groused as he begrudgingly got up and fixed himself some booze. _’Never fancied myself a day drinker, but fuck it, life’s short and so is the weekend.’_ Richie tittered at his own flawed reasoning and plotted himself back down onto the couch with his drink. The alcohol burned and heated him from the inside as he gulped it down briskly. Richie closed his eyes and ran his hands down his entire body stopping and rubbing softly at his crotch. Liquor always seemed to go straight to his penis (which is one of the reasons he thought it would be within his best interest to never visit a bar). 

After palming himself for a bit, Richie thought it would be wise for him to move to his bedroom to have a little fun. He may be inexperienced when it came to sex and relationships but Richie was very well acquainted with his hand and toys. Taking off his clothes and rummaging through the bottom drawer of his nightstand for lube and his favorite toy, he allowed his mind to wander. He dreamed of Arthur coming to his door, inviting himself in only to see Richie indulging in pleasureful sin. He wouldn’t know what to say, but he would arouse when he was invited to join. Richie could almost feel Arthur’s thin, chapped lips caress his supple flesh and his cold hands discovering all parts of his body. He imagined how Arthur would look staring down at him lustfully and how he would look as he unclothed teasingly slow. He thinks back to Arthur’s bare chest and the imprint in his grey sweatpants as he bobs up and down on the dildo, cranking up the vibration as he draws near to the blissful end of his fantasy. _’Dear god, this is so shameful! I just made a friend and I'm already lusting after him!’_ Despite this though, Richie still came hard, shooting small ropes of cum into his hand and stomach. The vibrations inside of him prolong his orgasm leaving him lying breathless, cum covered, and contrite.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that was good! I know there wasn't a lot of Arthur in this chapter, but I intend on making this a slow burn fanfiction. I'm not sure how often I will be able to update, but I'll try to at least do it every 1-2 weeks. See ya and don't forget to leave feedback!


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